


Sleepless Nights at Hogwarts

by atreblemaker13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco Malfoy, Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Dark Mark, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry is an ass, Lucius Malfoy is a terrible father, M/M, Male Slash, Nightmares, Sad Draco Malfoy, Self-Harm, Slightly slow burn, Slow Burn, Top Harry, draco - Freeform, draco has feelings, harry - Freeform, kind of, set after Dumbledore dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atreblemaker13/pseuds/atreblemaker13
Summary: Ever since the death of Dumbledore, Harry spends his nights wandering the halls. The Room of Requirement appears for him, and he begins to train and study how to get justice for Dumbledore. He knows Draco Malfoy was going to kill the Headmaster. He knows Malfoy belongs in Azkaban. What will it take for him to finally take him down and get him to pay? Or will new surprises occur and cause Harry to question just how guilty Malfoy really is...





	1. Chapter 1

Harry couldn’t sleep. 

Again.

He had taken to wandering the halls at night in the castle, when this newfound sleeplessness attacked. Perhaps it was the stress of exams looming over him, growing closer day by day. He’d been studying as much as he could, though Hermione had scolded him, telling him that he could still do more. Sod that. He had Quidditch practice matches to balance as well, and he couldn’t just skip those now could he. What else did he have left to try and enjoy at this point, if not Quidditch?

Between school and the other threat of Voldemort being officially at large, Harry’s mind hadn’t stopped since Dumbledore had plunged from the Astronomy Tower on that fateful night not too long ago. He was still grieving, the circles around his eyes darker, and his appetite had waned. His friends looked on him with pity and tried to shove food his way and sneak sleep potions into his drinks, thinking he didn’t notice all the while.

It’s not that Harry didn’t appreciate their help either. He did, truly. But he knew he had to stay focused and alert until he could come up with a plan to stop You-Know-Who at last.   
On these sleepless nights, Harry had been gifted one useful thing that kept appearing. 

The Room of Requirement.

It had appeared the first night he’d started shuffling the halls and hadn’t stopped since. 

He used it to train and study; practicing duels with magic dummies, learning to mix truth serums, and mastering flying. And occasionally Harry did sleep for an hour or two in the Room’s small bed it provided for him in the corner, along with a simple plate of bread and cheese. He knew the Room could have provided him with a whole damn feast of course, but honestly bread and cheese were about all Harry could stomach at this point. 

Tonight, his mind was a cacophony of deafening sadness and memories. They kept surging to the forefront of his mind. He rubbed at his eyes to try and make them disappear, but to no avail. As he laid back on the Room’s bed and closed his eyes, he became plagued with images of darkness. 

Figures shifting. Hiding under a room. Voices overhead. A quick scuffle and the sounds of weeping coming from a white-haired boy. A loud snap and Harry was running out to see the remnants of Snape looking back at him and Dumbledore falling, falling, falling down.   
When he opened his eyes, Harry found himself clutching his wand, knuckles white. Tears sprang from his eyes and ran down his cheeks as he pushed himself off the bed and checked the time. One hour. He’d gotten only one hour of sleep.

He stood, glancing at the dueling wizard dummy to his left, waiting for him to strike and begin. 

The dummy wasn’t without a face, in Harry’s mind. In fact, the face he saw every time he fought, every strike and blow he landed, was that of Draco Malfoy.  
______

“Harry are you even hearing me right now?” Hermione was looking at him strangely.

He blinked a few times, sitting up straight as he glanced to his right at Ron for help. Ron, looking sheepish, said nothing though. 

“Sorry, just thinking about that Mandrake Root potion we learned today.”

Hermione, obviously pleased to here this, launched into a sermon about the benefits of the potion and didn’t even notice when Harry lost eye contact with her to glance around the Great Hall.

Since the loss of Dumbledore, McGonagall had stepped up into the position of acting headmaster for the time being. Harry noticed that she was currently sitting in her own chair though, leaving the late professor’s empty still. The loss of the headmaster had been truly painful for them all, it seemed. 

Well, except for a select few. 

While it was true that the Slytherin house was a wicked bunch, a good bit of them were not at all pleased at the reappearance of the Dark Lord. But the rest were just as nasty as before, if not more now. And at the head of it, sat none other than the would-be murderer himself, Malfoy.   
Harry still wasn’t sure how Malfoy had been allowed back to attend Hogwarts and finish term. He had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that Snape sat back at the teacher’s table, keeping his watchful eye on him. 

Snape too was in the clear, having claimed ignorance to the whole ordeal and stating that he was only trying to protect the young boy who was clearly under the influence of some strong spell the Dark Lord had placed upon him. In fact, Snape had been trying to block Draco’s attack when it misfired and hit Dumbledore.   
Harry knew complete and utter bullshit when he heard it, but apparently Snape’s story had held up at the Ministry hearing, under the influence of veritaserum. Draco hadn’t been tried however, the stench of gold coins clearing his name of all charges. 

Harry had been there, under the floorboards that night. He’d had but a sliver to look through, but he knew for a fact that Draco had almost tried to kill the headmaster, the coward copping out at the end and leaving Snape to do the fateful deed himself.   
Harry had taken his concerns to the Ministry but no one would listen to him, the trial had already happened and he was too late.   
He was determined to find proof though. He knew, given the right evidence, the Minister of Magic would have to pay attention to The Boy Who Lived. He was going to take down Draco once and for all. And hopefully Professor Snape as well. 

Malfoy glanced up at Harry, who had been staring in his direction this whole time, and sneered at him. He flicked him off and snickered when his fellow housemates did the same. A shout from McGonagall did nothing to quell the laughter that followed. 

Harry stood, furious at the gall of the Slytherin scum. Ron pulled at his arm, “Not worth it, mate. Normally, I’d be right there with you, but you and I both know you don’t have the energy for a fight right now.”

He hated that Ron was right; that Ron was the voice of reason, for once.  
He looked back over to the rival table and saw something strange. Just for a second, Harry could’ve sworn that the permanent nasty grin that Malfoy wore slipped, exhaustion and fear taking its place. They were just as quickly replaced back with his usual look though, eyes hardening as he looked back over at Harry and caught his glance. 

Was Malfoy, pureblood snob extraordinaire, scared?

He would’ve thought Malfoy’d be beside himself with glee at having had a hand in Dumbledore’s death; on the Dark Lord’s side once at last.  
Malfoy held his gaze a second longer before looking away and Harry noted that the fear had crept ever so slightly back into his eyes. 

Draco Malfoy was most certainly scared. 

And of what, Harry wasn’t so sure.   
_______

Ron had just started snoring loudly when Harry slipped out of the Gryffindor rooms and into the dark castle halls. The only thing he carried was his wand. The first few times he’d done this he’d carried not only his Marauder’s Map, but his cloak as well. However, having gone this route time and time again, Harry knew he had nothing to worry about anymore; no one would interrupt his nighttime wanderings, not at this hour. 

Lost in his own thoughts, he slipped barefoot through several dimly lit passages until at last, he arrived at the entry way to a small dead-end hallway, lit with a single wall sconce above a nearly hidden stairwell jutting out of the floor in the corner. He had just descended the steps to the small door that led to his beloved Room of Requirement when a scuffle from above made him stop. He hesitated, looking upwards but finding nothing there. Brushing it off as paranoia and sleep deprivation, he hurried into the room, door clicking shut behind him. 

He practiced and practiced. Anger and confusion fueling his duel with the magic dummies. He sparred for what felt like hours, all the while projecting an image of Draco’s face onto the fake wizards until at last, he collapsed into a heap on the dingy bed in the corner. Wiping sweat off his brow, Harry’s thoughts were brought back to his earlier interaction with Malfoy. There was something he was missing; something wrong.   
Harry considered the fact that maybe Draco hadn’t really wanted to kill Dumbledore. Maybe he really was under some sort of spell.

Maybe he truly did not wish to be on the Dark Lord’s side. 

But why would Draco not wish to be on the greatest, most infamous, twisted, wizard of all time’s side? It’s what his family had most likely prepared him for his entire life; what his father had schooled into him from a young age, the promise of the great Lord’s return to cleanse the earth of every single filthy mudblood and muggle.

No, Harry thought, his eyes must’ve been playing tricks on him. 

Draco Malfoy may have been a coward in many other respects but Harry was certain he was just misreading the situation entirely.   
Yet, another thing to blame his lack of sleep for. Now he was having complete and utter delusions.   
It was to these swirling thoughts that Harry eventually passed out, arms and legs spread on top of the bare mattress covered in a simple sheet, sleep claiming him and taking him down, once again into bleak memories and misery.   
________

Several hours later Harry woke with a start to find himself in complete and utter darkness. All the candles had gone out in the room and the only light he had came from his wand, once lit.

“bloody hell…” he stood, fumbling for his glasses. He must’ve knocked them off while he was sleeping.

Fumbling around in the darkness, Harry heard a whoosh of air and suddenly the room was illuminated. A white-haired boy sat nearby staring at the practice dummy, looking slightly put out.

“About time you woke up,” he mumbled, looking at Harry.

Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t see properly still, but he knew Malfoy’s voice instantly. 

“Expelliarmus!” he yelled, pointing his wand at the blurry figure that he hoped was in fact Malfoy, and not the dummy.  
Nothing happened.

“You should go ahead and give up now, Potter. I’ve been trying to attack you for the last three hours you’ve been asleep,” Malfoy said dryly, “the room seems to have stopped all magical abilities for the time being.”

What. 

But Malfoy was the enemy, he needed to be disarmed and taken to the Ministry at once.   
Well, just as soon as Harry had concrete evidence that linked him to Dumbledore’s death.  
His face must have echoed some of his thoughts, because the pureblood boy just snorted derisively and stood up. Ah, so the blur to the right of him was the dummy.

Harry threw his hands up, “did you take my bloody glasses? If I can’t disarm you at least let me see so I can leave. I highly doubt that you want me to be in here any longer than needed.”

“They’re literally right next to you on the nightstand you fucking idiot.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, fingers finding the round black frames and restoring his vision at last.   
Something occurred to him then.

“Wait, why are you still here?” he asked, frowning at his rival housemate.

“Because,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth, hands in fists at his sides, “the room not only took away magic, it locked the door.”

Oh, hell.

Regardless of what he’d been told, Harry still rushed over to the Room of Requirement’s door, trying to pry it open, to no avail.   
He collapsed against it after several tries.

“Slightly overdramatic,” Draco murmured, suddenly nearer than before. 

Harry spun on his heels and stood in front of the boy, fuming.   
They stared at each other for a moment before Harry finally broke.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing here Malfoy, but you can be sure McGonagall will be hearing about this once I get out of here,” Harry yelled.   
White hair flashing, fist raised as if to strike, “I’m not playing a game here for once, Potter,” he spat, “do you think I want to be stuck in here with the little holier-than-thou, parent-less, Boy-Who-Lived? What, do you think you’re so important that even I, a Malfoy, want to be around you -a shite wizard who knows one fucking spell- of all people?”

Silence followed.   
For a moment, neither moved. 

Then it was fists flying, robes twisting and Harry punched Draco in the stomach, who promptly keeled over and dragged them both to the floor. They rolled around for a bit, until Harry found himself on top of Draco, fists landing punch after punch. It wasn’t until he realized that Draco hadn’t been fighting back for quite a while that Harry finally stopped. He stared down at the boy in the green and black robes and shame overtook him. 

He’d gone too far.

Draco was gasping for air, his nose was gushing blood and he was wheezing, clutching his face and stomach.   
Harry didn’t know what to do.  
Should he apologize? Hadn’t Draco deserved it though…

He shook his head to himself and sat up, scooting to the side of Draco.

“Here,” he pulled tissue from his robe pocket. It’d been there for who knows how long, but was unused all the same. 

Draco coughed and turned his head towards Harry, struggling to move.   
Once he reached a sitting position, he reached for the tissues and took them. Looking away, feeling suddenly all too vulnerable being in this state, Draco wiped at his face and found that tears had begun to fall. 

“Fuck,” he blubbered, not seeming able to stop them from falling.

Harry, upon noticing said tears, was sat frozen in place. He was unused to dealing with crying spells, let alone those belonging to his archenemy, of all people.  
He’d done this though. He hit him too many times and Draco’d let him.   
Harry didn’t know for sure but he was almost positive that he’d gotten in at least ten more hits after Draco had given up, letting his arms drop to the floor and taking the beating that they both knew he deserved.

Slowly, he scooted a little closer to Malfoy.   
Should he offer him more tissues? A box appeared to his right on the floor and he grabbed them gratefully, and offered them to the taller, leaner, boy. 

“I don’t need your handouts, Potter,” he declared, albeit half-heartedly.

Ignoring him, Harry pushed his way forward and found himself holding a wad of tissues to Malfoy’s temple that was split open and bleeding.   
Both froze upon contact. Gray eyes met green.

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, not moving his hand from the pale skin.

Draco was glued to the spot. The blood pouring from his nose had finally come to a stop and he was finishing drying his eyes, all while Harry kept patting a little too roughly at his forehead.   
Neither spoke a word.

At some point, sleep had been suggested. They were both so exhausted, after laying on the now slightly larger mattress, they were out within minutes.  
Harry slept through the night for the first time in weeks.  
________

Morning light shone through a small sliver of a window in the ceiling. 

That’s a new feature, Harry thought, blinking awake. A warm weight pressed across his chest, pinning him down slightly. As he came to, he realized the weight was actually Draco’s arm. Malfoy was on his side next to Harry, arm slung across his waist, still passed out. Harry went still and looked over at Malfoy’s sleeping form; taking in the white hair falling over half of his face, and the peaceful look that was currently being worn on Draco’s face. A look he’d never seen.  
He found he quite liked this look better than all the other one’s he’d seen there before. 

Where malice and anger had been the night last, there was only a slightly warm, tingling in Harry’s chest. He felt it tighten when Draco murmured in his sleep, stirring a little, then stilling again.  
Harry laid completely still, unsure of what to do. Draco looked so peaceful. And if the matching dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by, Harry would guess that Malfoy had been getting as much sleep as he had.

He glanced down at the other boy’s arm again, studying the long, pale fingers attached to the bare arm that was gently laid across him. The sleeve of the robe had ridden up and Harry gasped, seeing the flash of black that moved on Draco’s skin. He moved the arm that remained unpinned and pushed back the rest of the sleeve, exposing the only evidence he’d ever need to land Draco in Azkaban for life.

The Dark Mark. 

There it was, snake moving in and out of the skull’s mouth, shifting about as it sat, ingrained into Draco’s skin.

What had he done?

Harry shoved Draco’s arm off, startling the other boy to consciousness. He blinked awake quickly, his steely eyes finding Harry’s and noticed immediately the way they lay too close together, his arm now discarded to the side where he knew it must’ve lain elsewhere before. In fact, he was sure he vaguely remembered wrapping himself around another warm bundle of robes in the middle of the night. Cheeks tinged slightly pink, Malfoy sat up and looked at the way Potter was now fuming, wand pointed at his face. 

“Potter, I understand this is a slightly compromising position we’ve awoken to but there’s no need to point your wand at me first thing in the morning,” he quirked.

Harry’s mouth twitched as if to laugh but he did no such thing, instead saying ever so solemnly, “what is on your arm, Draco?”  
______

Harry ought to have dragged Draco straight to McGonagall after seeing that mark on his arm. But when he went to unlock the door, amongst Malfoy’s pleas, he found it was still locked. 

“What the bloody hell is going on…what do you want from me?” Harry shouted at nothing.

Draco became silent.

“I’ve got him right here you piece of shite room!” 

“I have proof, I can turn him in at last,” Harry mumbled, pacing back and forth in front of the door. He was starting to look like a complete and utter wreck. 

Draco just stared. He now stood next to one of the practice dummies, scowling at a projection of his own face looking back at him. He turned back to face Harry, noting the way the other boy trudged back and forth as if something ever so heavy sat upon his back. He noted the smaller boy’s sallow cheeks and purple-ringed eyes, the crazed look that he had about him, and felt a pang of emotion in his chest.   
Harry was him and he was Harry. 

They were both just as miserable as one another but for so many different reasons. 

Draco too had lost countless nights of sleep, tossing and turning, the night at the Astronomy Tower replaying on an endless loop in his head. And every time, he saw the look on Dumbledore’s face as he was hit with the killing spell Avada Kedavra. Every single damn time. 

That stupid, stupid look. 

For, Dumbledore had looked upon him with compassion and pity in his last moment. As if he truly saw Draco for the scared little boy he was. A scared little boy who didn’t wish to be a part of his horrible, snobbish, family any longer. A coward with no way to escape from the darkness that now lingered inside him.   
Because afterwards, not even his supposed friends had understood why, when prompted about his involvement in Voldemort’s cause, he hadn’t wanted to talk about it, feeling not pride but only guilt and shame.

Draco was not proud of what he’d almost done; what he had been an accomplice nonetheless to. And Snape, ever so watchful, had covered it all up, along with his father Lucius.   
The mark on his arm was a promise that he couldn’t keep.   
A promise that he’d let himself be forced into and now regretted ever so immensely.

He was brought back to the present by Harry, now standing in front of him, waving about madly.   
“I said, mark my words, as soon as we get out of this conundrum, I am most certainly turning you in, Malfoy, “he said, nostrils flaring.

Draco stood quietly for a moment and turned back to sit on the bed, moving across it so that his back was against the wall.  
Harry stared at him, an incredulous look on his face.

“What in Merlin’s name are you even doing, Draco?”

Draco shrugged, “I’m waiting. When the door unlocks you can turn me in. In the meantime, I’ll be right here.” 

“but…you…” Harry blubbered, running his hand through his shaggy brown hair. 

“I’m tired Potter,” he said, swallowing a lump in his throat, “if you wish to bring me in then so be it.”

He fidgeted for a moment, hand absently running across the twisted mark on his forearm. Oh, if only Harry knew how many times he’d tried to burn and cut it off. In fact, if Harry had looked closely enough, he would’ve seen the scars that lay, ingrained into Draco’s skin along and around the tattoo now.   
This past year had been more than enough to make one wish to no longer exist. Those on the enemy side were not exempt from wanting to disappear right alongside the countless muggle’s and wizard’s who’d already been killed. 

Draco had never felt more hopeless than the night following the headmaster’s death. He’d cried and cried and finally, rising from his bed had gone straight to his father’s expensive liquor cabinet, then back to his room, downed an entire bottle and a half of firewhiskey, and then lain in the bath until he no longer saw or felt anything.   
His mother had been the one to find him. 

His father hadn’t cared one bit when he was told what had happened, only threatened to put him in St. Mungo’s hospital for good, locked behind a barred door in a padded cell.   
Draco was so, so tired.  
He knew what he deserved. Death would’ve been too kind. 

Who better than to bring him to his rightful fate than the great Harry Potter?

He could try to explain himself to Harry, who had remained standing, looking at him with an unreadable expression. But he had a feeling he wouldn’t be heard. Harry could never understand. 

Harry was different. He hadn’t grown up with the family he’d had. He hadn’t had to deal with being thrust into the spotlight of a rich, powerful family, and expected to choose certain sides from a young age. He hadn’t had to grow up with a father who cared little of his existence, only ever appearing when absolutely necessary, and with gold to smooth his way out of every little thing.   
The only person Draco had was his mother, and she was still almost entirely obedient to his father and would be until the very end. She was his only confidant and still he kept certain secrets from her; one in particular.

Draco would rather die than let that one out of the bag. Those were feelings even he didn’t understand still. Feelings that had been born from hatred and disgust that had, over time, blossomed into something else entirely. Something that he struggled with every time he saw those stupid round glasses and those stupid green eyes.

For his most frightening, most alarming secret of all was Harry Potter.

However much Draco deserved Azkaban, he wasn’t ready just yet. 

No, he’d go on his own time and when he did it would be in flames of glory.

He vowed to do whatever it took to avoid giving Harry the satisfaction of delivering him to the Ministry’s doorstep.  
Feelings or no feelings, Draco would make up his own damn mind when it was time to atone for his sins.  
______

Harry wasn’t sure when his magic was turned back on but after what felt like hours of him standing guard at the door, watching Draco like a hawk watching its prey, the door made a clicking sound and sprang open at last, knocking him down in the process. 

There was a snorting sound from the direction of Draco and while Harry fumbled yet again for misplaced glasses, he felt the edge of a robe slip past him. 

“Thought you had me this time huh, Potter?” Draco leered at him.

Harry froze, Draco’s lips were right next to his ear. 

“Next time you want to hold someone captive and turn them in, maybe tie them down first,” he whispered, disappearing up the stairs with a crack of his robes.

“Draco you twat, come back here,” Harry yelled, running up the stairs, glasses in place, but it was too late, Draco was out of sight. He had quickly disappeared into the morning crowd full of other young witches and wizards hurrying to get to class, silver hair flashing once before vanishing altogether.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy. It was beginning to cause a problem. His first instinct was to immediately turn in the bastard with no remorse and let the Ministry handle it from there, and yet there was another part of him that wanted to find out more. Find out just why in the hell Malfoy had gotten such a thing when he seemed to absolutely loathe it. Harry had noticed the way he’d looked at his own arm, Draco hadn’t seemed happy at all to be bearing the mark of the Dark Lord. 

“fucking hell, mate could you be a little less obvious?” Ron asked, incredulously. 

Harry tore his gaze from the Slytherin table to find Hermione and Ron staring at him with matching looks of confusion. 

“I…err…sorry,” Harry fumbled, “I just really hate him.”

Hermione studied him for a minute before saying, “Well it’s turning into quite the unhealthy obsession Harry. Just because you hate someone doesn’t mean you need to go off staring at them like an arse all day long, you’ll give people the wrong idea.”

Ron snickered as Harry’s face turned beet red. 

“Merlin, Hermione,” he said raising his voice, “don’t you care at all that Dumbledore’s killer is sitting right over there? Not ten paces from us. And yet you’re over here snickering and making jokes?” 

“Harry, calm down it was only a joke” Ron said, reaching out to pat Harry on the back. 

“No, he’s right, Ron,” Hermione said solemnly, “now is not the time for jokes. Sorry, Harry,” she looked at him and he nodded. “We’re just worried about you. All you ever do is think about how to take him down and that’s not something you should have to worry about.”

Harry reached over to take Hermione’s hand, his own shaking due to his lack of energy, “I hear you and I’m sorry I’m worrying you guys,” he paused, face growing determined, “but I won’t stop until I see Dumbledore brought to justice, and properly this time.”

He left them then, standing and excusing himself to go to potions class. No matter if he’d be there early. It’d give him the chance to study his book a bit more.   
He walked through the halls and down the staircase into the potions classroom. Thinking he was alone, he began muttering to himself. 

“bloody Hermione, thinking I’m obsessed,” he walked to his desk and threw his books down by his cauldron, “why would she ever think I’d be obsessed with Malfoy, stupid, posh, brat…”

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat behind Harry.

He jumped, turning around to find himself face to face with none other than Malfoy. 

“What in Godrick’s name?” he yelled.

Draco smiled smugly, “heard you talking about me, Potter” he said, “what, can’t get me out of your head now?” 

Harry frowned, saying nothing. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel like punching Draco right now, not when other students would be coming in the door in approximately twenty minutes.   
Draco snorted, “speechless, Potter? Never seen you like this before. Did our little rendezvous the other day make you change your mind about me?” he said growing quieter, slowly getting closer to Harry, “or am I still a spoilt brat who’s more than happy to have killed your precious Dumbledore?”

Harry raised his hands that were now clenched into fists. Draco was in his face, they were nearly nose to nose, both fuming and wrought with tension.   
Draco started to open his mouth again when the sound of the potions door slamming open startled them both, and they sprang apart. Professor Snape stood in the doorway, one eyebrow crooked, looked at them both and said “Mr. Malfoy perhaps Potter and you will work together today seeing as how you both seem to be enjoying one another’s presence at the moment.”

Both boys turned crimson and started sputtering out excuses, but they both knew how it must’ve looked when the Professor had opened the door. Silently they made their way to Harry’s table and sat through the rest of class together working through gritted teeth and pinched faces. The rest of their classmates didn’t know what was going on, never before had they seen Malfoy and Potter work together on anything. Nonetheless, the Slytherin students sneered at Potter and promised to get him back for whatever spell he had Draco under.   
__________  
Tonight, was worse than the others. 

Harry had started out in his Gryffindor bed when he became plagued with nightmares of his childhood, memories surfacing of his mother and father’s faces and the fatal blow that was dealt to them both. 

He awoke with tears streaming down his face and threw off the covers, grabbed his wand and made his way out through the common room, through the painting, and down the dark hallway. He was heading to the Room of Requirement and passing the boy’s toilets when he heard a sound that stopped him. Curious, he put his head against the door, and heard it again; sobbing. He furrowed his brow, “no one ever uses these toilets”, he said to himself. Quietly, he cracked open the door, but could not see who was making such horrible, choked sounds. So, he took a deep breath and crept in as silently as possible, walking past the stalls. The sobs were coming from the direction of the sinks. Upon reaching them, Harry’s heart clenched in his chest. 

It was Draco.   
He hadn’t even noticed Harry’s presence yet. 

He sat hunched over in front of one of the sinks, water running onto the floor and blood stains on his right sleeve. It wasn’t until Harry realized that the blood was coming from Draco’s Dark Mark arm that he gasped aloud, causing Draco to still and grab his wand from beside him.

“Get out!” Draco shouted, “I don’t care who you are but if you repeat any of this to anyone, I will find you and Crucio the hell out of you for hours”.  
Harry froze. He thought to leave him there, after all, Draco deserved to be miserable for the rest of his life for what he’d done to Dumbledore.   
But…

Something made him move forward and gently put his hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“It’s just me,” he said softly, not in control of his own body, it seemed. What was he even doing right now?  
His heart was pounding in his ears and his head was feeling dizzy. 

When Draco turned around and saw that it was Harry, he got this look on his face, trying to pull himself together and put his Slytherin mask back on. But it was too late. Harry saw him. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Draco whispered, wiping tears from his eyes, “I can’t…you can’t see,” he sputtered, gray eyes shining and watery, white hair disheveled and falling around his face, glowing in the moonlight that fell through the window above the sinks. 

He was beautiful. 

Harry heard his own breath hitch, struck with this revelation, and lowered himself to the ground. He waved his wand to turn the water off and suddenly it was much quieter in the room. Turning to look at Draco, he gently took his arm to inspect the wounds, noticing how many scars surrounded the Dark Mark. It looked like Draco had been trying for a while to get rid of it. Harry was shocked to even think that Draco would do something like this to himself. He must really not be who he thought he was after all.

Draco shivers as Harry mumbles a healing spell, and watches as the cuts close up and disappear, unlike the others that Draco must’ve let bleed out and heal normally.  
Both boys turn their faces upwards and look at on another, neither speaking. 

Draco takes a shaky breath, “now you know,” he says roughly, “I don’t want this, I’ve never wanted any of this,” he shakes his head. Wiping the last of his tears he says, “I used to think that if I followed along with what my father did, everything would be okay and I’d make him proud,” he curls his lip, “but even now he can’t stand the sight of me.”  
Harry didn’t know what to say, so he held on a little tighter to Draco’s arm and studied those soft grey eyes, eyes that were no longer steely or hard at the sight of him. Eyes that were rimmed in red, and oh so tired. 

Draco was as still as a statue, unsure of what to do. He didn’t like being studied by Harry, he didn’t like all these emotions flooding through him at the sight of those bright green eyes and that pale lightning scar. 

Harry moved first. 

He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Draco, pulling him into a hug. He felt the taller boy shudder and breathe out, slowly relaxing into the warm embrace.   
They stayed like that for minutes, or maybe hours. It didn’t matter. 

Finally, Draco pulled back and said, laughing weakly, “well, if you had wanted to get me alone, Potter, all you had to do was ask.”

Harry snorted, “oh shut up, Draco.”

Then he did something that neither boys expected or saw coming. His body moved forward and in an instant, his lips were pressed against the pale boy’s own. It was nothing particularly special, just a quick press of lips, but in that moment, everything changed.


End file.
